


These dreams we choose

by curly184



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curly184/pseuds/curly184
Summary: It's taken me too long to finish this.  Apologies, and as always, thank you for reading and the kudos.





	1. Chapter 1

"Of all the things you get to choose in life, you don’t get to choose your nightmares.  You don’t pick them; they pick you."


	2. Chapter 2

Eugene wakes to the sound of Lipton yelling, “Take cover!  Find a foxhole!”  He listens for the whistle of an incoming shell and the sky above him lights up. All around him, the forest explodes. He doesn’t flinch.  It's nothing new, he has been living this particular nightmare at least once every day for a few weeks now. He hears a heavy thud on the ground above his foxhole and realises it is someone trying to find cover. He reaches up and grabs the man’s jacket, dragging him in to the relative safety of the hole.

“Doc,” Nixon greets Gene as he awkwardly pulls himself up to something resembling a sitting position.  There’s not much room, and they are half-lying against each other.  It’s something all the men have had to get used to out here in the Bois Jacques, the lack of personal space and the bitter cold means they are often physically closer to another man than they could ever have imagined they would be comfortable with. 

The barrage seems to be endless, and Gene rests his hand protectively on his medic bag where it lies close to his hip, mentally counting the supplies inside as he waits.  He knows there is no way everyone will escape this unscathed.   When the attack finally stops, Gene strains to hear the now all too familiar yells for medic, but none come.  He frowns and struggles out of the foxhole, the lack of cries a cause for concern.  Nixon pulls himself out of the hole after Gene, “Come on Doc, I’ll check on them with you.”

They walk in silence and Gene ducks into each foxhole along the line, checking on the occupants. Miraculously, everyone is okay, and there isn’t a single man needing his attention.  And considering the shelling that has just finished, they are all in remarkably good spirits.  Liebgott is grousing about losing the coffee he had been making before the attack began.  He had dumped it out on the ground when he decided his helmet would be better off on his head than being used as a make-shift pot.  It’s relatively low level and good natured grumbling, for Liebgott anyway, so no-one is paying him much attention.

Once he is satisfied that everyone is okay, Gene heads back towards his foxhole. Nixon walks with him, making his way back to CP Gene assumes, since it's in roughly the same direction. As they walk through the snow, Gene stumbles at one point and Nixon throws his arm out to grab him, preventing him from falling face first into the snow.

“Thanks, Captain,” Gene says with a soft smile, meeting Nixon's dark eyes that are almost completely hidden by his helmet.

Nixon gives him a slight nod, watching Gene for a moment and Gene wonders if Nixon is remembering their first encounter too.

 

* * *

 

It was over two years ago now, they were running one of Sobel’s crazy dashes up Currahee at six in the morning when Gene missed his footing and tripped.  Ignoring Sobel’s angry yells of “do not help that man!”, and without once breaking his own stride, the man next to Gene gripped his upper arm, helping him stay on his feet.  When Gene turned to look at the man, to nod in thanks, he was met with dark eyes and heavy eyebrows, a smirk on the man’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked pointedly in Sobel’s direction.  Gene couldn’t help but smile back.

From then on, whenever Sobel was doing or saying something outrageous, Nixon caught Gene’s eye and gave him that same smirk and subtle eye roll.  Sometimes, Gene had to hide his smiles behind his fist, at other times; he couldn’t look at Nixon at all for fear of dissolving into a fit of giggles.  Maybe it was because Nixon was an officer, and should be better behaved, but Nixon’s restrained expressions made Gene laugh more than the all-out impersonations Luz did of their commanding officer.

It was a bizarre friendship, if it could be called that.  Shared looks and smiles, sips from a flask of whisky when Nixon found Gene savouring a few moments alone after a long day under the searing heat of the Georgia sun.  Even when all he wanted to do was sit alone in the stillness, Gene never minded Nixon joining him.  They sat together in comfortable silence, smoking a cigarette or drinking from Nixon’s flask.  They didn’t talk much, occasionally laughing quietly about Sobel’s latest antics, but for the most part, they just enjoyed the quietness and each other’s company as the sun left the sky.

At Camp Mackall, Nixon was promoted to intelligence officer and Gene saw less of him.  He found himself looking around for Nixon, to share an exasperated look, when Sobel got most of Easy Company killed during a training drill and realised he missed the dark haired man's company. Then Gene was picked for medic training and he didn’t see as much of any of the men who had trained at Toccoa. He had almost no contact with Nixon in England, aside from a smile and a greeting here and there, but the night before their jump into Normandy, as all the men were shaking hands and clapping one another on the shoulder, wishing each other good luck, Nixon sought Gene out to shake his hand, ”Stay safe, Doc.”

Once they got into combat, Gene didn’t see Nixon at all, until Winters brought him into the aid station after a near-miss with a stray bullet in Nuenen.  It was a mild injury, but Gene found himself shaking as he cleaned it up, thinking of how lucky Nixon was to have escaped with little more than a graze.  It took him a moment to notice Nixon was shaking too.  Shock, Gene realised and he threw a blanket around Nixon’s shoulders.  Nixon insisted he was fine but Gene made him stay a little longer while he tidied up the aid station.  They didn't talk, but just like it had been in Georgia, the quietness between them was comfortable. Then they stood outside, sharing a cigarette and enjoying the last of the evening sun until Winters returned and dragged Nixon off to a Battalion meeting.

 

* * *

 

They reach Gene’s foxhole and Gene slides in, settling against the frozen-solid earth and pulling off his helmet to run a hand through his hair.  He is exhausted.  And cold.  He can’t remember the last time he had slept for longer than an hour.  He can't remember the last time he felt warm. Nixon climbs in beside him, holding his flask out towards Gene. Gene watches him for a moment; it’s been a long time since Nixon last sat beside him, offering him his flask.  Now that Gene thinks about it, it’s been over two years since they last sat together, sipping whisky and enjoying the quiet.  Nixon is still looking at him, an eyebrow quirked and that smirk on his face, as Gene reaches out for the flask and takes a mouthful, the smooth whisky burning his insides and for the first time in what might be forever, he feels warm.  He tries to stifle a yawn.

“You tired, Doc?”

Gene gives a shrug, they are all tired.

“Get some sleep.  I’ll stay here for a while.”

Gene stares at him, unsure what to do.  He contemplates telling Nixon he’ll just crawl into Heffron’s foxhole to get some sleep, but he knows Luz is there and he will get no peace.  Instead, he nods, drawing the blanket up under his chin and closes his eyes.

He dreams.  Maybe D-Day, maybe Carentan or Neunen.  He isn’t sure.  At this point, most of the places they have fought have become indistinguishable from one another.  Only the snow and unrelenting cold sets Bastogne apart. He kneels beside a soldier, trying to stanch the blood pouring from a bullet wound on the man’s stomach. It's an impossible task and he doesn't have enough towels for all the blood. The man's uniform turns dark red as blood seeps through the fabric and onto the ground where it pools under Eugene's knees…

“Medic!”

Gene startles awake, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

“Jesus, Doc!” Nixon exclaims beside him.

“Somebody called, I have to – somebody – who yelled?” he stutters, shrugging the blanket off and pushing himself up out of the foxhole, looking round and trying to work out which direction the yell had come from.  The forest around them is silent.

“Nobody yelled,” Nixon says, pulling him back down.

Gene’s whole body is trembling and he tries to fight against the tight sensation in his chest. 

“C’mere,” Nixon says, pulling Gene towards him. Gene doesn’t fight him; he slumps against Nixon and tries to calm his racing heart.  He can feel the slow and steady rise and fall of Nixon’s chest as the man breathes in and out and Gene concentrates on matching his own breathing to Nixon’s, feeling the warmth from Nixon's body seep into his own skin.

“You okay, Doc?” Nixon whispers a while later.  Gene gives an involuntary shiver when he feels Nixon’s warm breath against his neck.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, a little uncertainly.


	3. Chapter 3

Nixon barely makes it out of the foxhole before he throws himself down again at the sudden sound of machine gun fire. He loses his helmet in the process and lands heavily on Gene.  Without thinking, his instinct to protect kicking in, Gene wraps his arms around Nixon’s head, trying to roll them over so he is lying over Nixon, shielding him from the shells and mortar and bullets that will soon be flying overhead.  But Nixon is stronger than Gene, bigger too, and that combined with the lack of space means they stay the way they are, Nixon lying on top of Gene, almost crushing him, and his face pressed against Gene’s neck.

After that first blast of fire, the forest falls quiet once again, until they hear Lipton calling out, asking if everyone is okay, followed by a chorus of _"yeah, sarge"_ from the men.  Gene lets out a sigh of relief and Nixon gives a low laugh. Once again, the feeling of the man’s warm breath against his neck sends a pleasant shiver down Gene's spine.

Nixon pushes himself up, supporting his weight on his elbows and leaning over Gene.  Gene feels his breath catch in his throat as the dark haired captain looks down at him.  Nixon has this look in his eye, a hint of a smirk on his lips, that Gene can’t decipher.

“What?” Gene asks, trying to push Nixon off him.  Nixon doesn’t move, and instead pushes Gene’s helmet up and kisses him.  It’s messy and a little aggressive and it seemingly comes out of nowhere. Gene doesn’t know how to react.  He fists his hand into the front Nixon’s jacket as he tries to push Nixon off him again, more forcefully this time, but Nixon just presses him more firmly against the ground.

After a moment, Nixon breaks away and looks down at a stunned and breathless Gene. He's grinning now.

“Sir-"

“Shhh,” Nixon cuts him off before he begins assaulting Gene’s mouth again, his hands sliding under Gene’s helmet to brush through his hair.  Gene doesn’t know what to do, but then he takes a deep breath and decides to just go with it, to surrender to Nixon and whatever it is that is happening.  He brings his arms to wrap around Nixon, pressing into the small of the man’s back.  He can feel the friction of Nixon’s days old stubble rubbing against his own and can taste a hint of whisky in Nixon's mouth. 

He hears someone call Nixon's name and Nixon laughs against Gene’s mouth and pulls himself off Gene.  “See you later, Doc,” he says and climbs out of the foxhole, making his way towards Winters and Lipton. Gene pulls himself up to sitting and wonders what the hell that was all about, thinks about how lucky they were to not to get caught. Then the shaking starts and Gene can’t stop it.  Tremors that course through his body so violently it hurts.  Dusk approaches, the forest begins to fall dark and Gene still can’t control his trembling body.  He climbs out of his foxhole and heads off in the direction of Heffron’s hole, praying his friend is there and that he’s alone.

Without a word, Gene slips into the hole and commandeers half of Heffron’s blanket.

“Where’s your own damn blanket?” Heffron mutters as Gene presses himself tight against him.

“Jesus, Gene, you’re shaking like a leaf.” Heffron says, tucking the blanket around Gene and pulling him closer, draping an arm around Gene’s shoulder. 

Gene doesn’t speak, just rests against the familiar, safe presence of Babe Heffron and slowly, slowly his body stops shaking.

 

* * *

 

A few nights later, Nixon slides into Gene’s foxhole.

“Captain?” Gene asks, “Everything okay?”

“I need your help with something.” Nixon replies, and Gene’s mind instantly goes to who is hurt and why didn’t he hear the calls for medic.  And why is Nixon is calm?

“You speak French?” Nixon asks him, holding out a sheet of paper, a typed report with some words scrawled in the margins.  “What does this say?  I can’t read it.” Nixon points to the messy script.

Gene glances at the piece of paper, and then looks back at Nixon, “I don’t know, sir.”

Nixon frowns, looking at Gene quizzically.

Gene lets out a soft laugh and looks down, “I speak French, sir.  I can’t read it.”

Nixon makes no response and tucks the paper away in a pocket, then pulls out his flask and takes a long swallow.  Gene watches him; he can’t imagine that needing help fo decipher a French phrase is the real reason for Nixon’s visit.  As the intelligence officer, Nixon's French will be excellent.  And even if it’s not, there are plenty of other officers who speak French.  There is no need for Nixon to seek out the medic to ask for help.

“You okay, Doc?” Nixon asks after a moment.

Gene gives a small nod, not meeting Nixon’s eye.

“Look, I’m sorry for – I’m sorry about,” Nixon fumbles for words, “I shouldn’t have done that, I didn’t…”  He trails off and looks at Gene for a moment, “There’s just something about you, Eugene,” he finishes softly.

“S’okay,” Gene says softly.  And even he isn’t sure if he’s means it’s okay, apology accepted or if he means it’s okay that Nixon kissed him. 


	4. Chapter 4

They spend the night in a convent in Rachamps, it’s the first night they have had a roof over their heads in a month. A priest comes in to say Mass and Gene prays for forgiveness. Forgiveness for all the men he wasn’t able to save. For Hoobler, Muck, Penkala. For Julian and how he had failed to comfort Heffron. For Smokey, who had always laughed and joked with Gene, scrounged morphine for him, shared hot coffee with him, who had cried to Gene that he couldn’t feel his legs after he got hit. Forgiveness for how he had let Winters down the night Lieutenant Welsh was shot. Forgiveness for the 82 Easy men who had come into Belgium a month ago, but who aren’t there tonight. 

He prays for forgiveness for what he did with Nixon, forgiveness for how good it felt, forgiveness for how much he wants the dark haired captain to kiss him again.

Afterwards, Gene does the rounds, checking on each of the men. A few have horrible, hacking coughs, and while a few hours inside in the warmth has helped Heffron’s cough, it doesn’t seem to have helped Lipton's. He does what he can for the men, checking wounds, changing bandages and handing out medication that may or may not benefit the recipients. Then he settles next to an injured Perconte and listens to the choir. For a moment, he tries to forget where he is, tries to forget the horror of the past month and he soaks up the atmosphere of the beautiful church, the candles, the singing, the warmth, the relaxed mood of the men around him now that they know they are being taken of the line. He feels himself drift off to sleep a few times, jerking awake each time his head rolls forward.

“Doc?” Luz taps him on the shoulder from the row behind. “Go get some sleep, you’re exhausted.”

“I’m okay,” Gene replies sitting up straighter and glancing towards Perconte who is dosing beside him. “I have to –“

“Leave Perconte to us, Doc, if he needs anything we’ll come get you.”

Beside Luz, Babe nods in agreement. Gene smiles gratefully at his friend as he gets up to leave the church, but not before a final concerned glance at Perconte and making Luz and Heffron promise they’ll come get him if anyone needs anything.

As Gene walks along the narrow corridor to the room where he, Heffron and Spina had left their gear earlier, he hears footsteps coming towards him and prays that it’s no-one looking for him. The nuns had insisted on giving up their beds for the soldiers, and now that Luz has put the idea in his head, all Gene can think of is falling into a soft bed and burrowing under the blankets.

He’s surprised when Nixon comes round the corner, he didn’t think any of the officers were here.

“Captain?”

Nixon doesn’t speak; instead he grabs Gene by the wrist and pulls him into a dark alcove. Pushing Gene up against the wall, Nixon presses his mouth to Gene’s. Gene is taken by surprise, but since he’s not in as vulnerable a position as he was in the foxhole with Nixon lying on top of him, he puts his arms on Nixon’s shoulders and firmly pushes the captain away.

“Sir –“

“Jesus, Doc, what’s wrong?”

“Sir, what are you – what – why – “ he stutters, not exactly sure what he is trying to say.

“You don’t like it?” Nixon asks, a knowing smirk on his face.

Gene opens his mouth and closes it again. He does like it, he can’t lie. But it’s not natural, a sin. At least, that’s what the priests at home said; it’s what they said about Jerome, the man from the Bayou when Gene was a boy. And yet, Gene wants nothing more than for Nixon to kiss him again.

As though reading his mind, Nixon moves closer again, and Gene ducks his head, unable to meet Nixon’s gaze. Nixon lifts his hand to Gene’s chin, tilting his head up and then kissing him again. This time, Gene surrenders completely and kisses Nixon back, exploring the man’s mouth with his tongue, savouring the taste of whisky and cigarettes. He slides his fingers though Nixon’s dark hair and moans softly into Nixon’s mouth as Nixon tugs at his shirt until he can get his hands on Gene’s bare skin.

Gene finds himself tugging at Nixon, trying to pull him closer. Getting the message, Nixon presses against him more firmly and pushes his thigh in between Gene’s legs. Nixon’s hands go to Gene’s waist, ghosting over his hip bones and down his thighs, Gene breathes heavily as he presses into Nixon, looking for some much needed friction. When Nixon’s hands start working at the buttons of his pants, Gene feels himself start to tremble. Softly at first, then more violently. Nixon notices and pulls back to look at Gene. “Doc?”

Gene ducks his head, not wanting to look at Nixon and unable to stop himself from shaking. Nixon raises his hands to rest on Gene's shoulders.

“Look at me, Eugene.” It takes a moment, but Gene lifts his eyes and meets Nixon’s confused and concern-filled eyes. He’s frowning slightly, looking completely serious, which isn’t a look Gene has seen him wear often. “You’re shaking.”

Gene nods mutely.

“Is it me? Is it this? We don’t have to. I thought…” Nixon trails off, looking unsure of himself. It’s another look Gene has never seen him wear before.

Gene wants to explain. But he doesn’t know how. He wants to tell Nixon that he wants to. He really wants to. But he knows what happens to men like them. He knows what happened to Jerome, the man from the Bayou when Gene was a boy. They beat him and left him for dead. 

Nixon takes Gene’s hands in his own and presses his forehead to Gene’s. They stand like that for a few moments, their hands entwined. “You should get some sleep,” Nixon says eventually.” And plants a kiss on Gene’s temple. It’s a sweet, almost affectionate gesture and nothing like what Gene would expect from the sarcastic, quick witted captain.

Despite being so desperate to fall into bed just half an hour ago, Gene can’t sleep. He lies awake thinking about Nixon and trying to wrap his mind around what is going on between them. He doesn’t know why Nixon suddenly kissed him in the foxhole; he doesn’t know why Nixon sought him out tonight, seemingly for no other reason than to kiss him again. He does know that he wants Nixon to kiss him again, and maybe next time he won’t tremble when Nixon’s hands make their way to the buttons on his pants. He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut as warmth builds low in his stomach as he imagines how it would feel to have Nixon touch him.

He’s still awake a few hours later when Heffron and Spina quietly make their way into the room and climb into their beds. They are both sleeping within minutes, their soft snores filling the room. Gene is still awake when the sun comes up.


	5. Chapter 5

Gene sits alone in a dusty basement in Haguenau, eyes closed, replaying the night’s events over and over in his mind.  He had no idea the patrol was happening, no one had told him.  If he’d known, he would have been waiting at the side of the river for the men to return and then maybe, _maybe_ things would be different.  He had been sleeping, relatively peacefully, in a house at the far side of the town.  Believing everyone was safe – or as safe as they could be.  Instead, fifteen of the men were across the river and now Jackson is dead.  And Gene will never forget the look for terror on his face and how his body convulsed in Gene’s arms.  He’ll never forget the way Heffron looked at him either – a look of utter disbelief on his face.

He hears heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.  Heffron is the only one who knows he’s down here and Gene knows Babe won’t disturb him unless it is absolutely necessary.  He knows someone must need him for something but still Gene can’t seem to move from his spot on the floor, he can’t seem to open his eyes.

Part of him has been wishing Heffron would disturb him.  Part of him doesn't want to be alone. He’s not sure when, or how, it happened, maybe it was the night after Julian died or maybe it was the morning Gene fixed up Heffron’s bleeding hand, maybe it was when Heffron noticed how beaten and disillusioned Gene was feeling in Bastogne or maybe it was before that, before they jumped into Holland, when the redhead from South Philly had flashed Gene that wide grin, but somewhere along the way, Heffron - _Babe_ , he mentally corrects himself - has become Gene’s friend.  He’s the one Gene wants to sit quietly with in hopeless moments like this.  Not that Heffron knows how to be quiet, but he can always manage to make Gene smile and Gene loves him for that. 

 “Doc?” Gene is surprised to hear Nixon’s voice instead of Heffron’s.  He opens his eyes but doesn’t move or acknowledge Nixon in any way, just continues to sit with his head resting back against the wall.

“You okay?” Nixon asks as he crosses the room to crouch in front of Gene.

“What do you think?” Gene snaps. 

Nixon huffs out a small breath, his lips quirking upwards slightly.

“Don’t laugh at me, Nixon.”

“I’m not laughing at you Gene.”  Nixon says, his expression entirely serious.

They are quiet for a moment.  Then Gene speaks again, “Why did no-one tell me?  I could have been there, I could have been waiting.”  The acute rage he feels comes across in his tone. It takes him by surprise.

“Would it have made any difference?”  Nixon asks.

“Hell, I don’t know.  But Jackson would be no worse off that’s for sure.”  Gene knows he’s pushing the limits here, no matter what is going on between the two of them, Nixon is an officer and Gene shouldn’t be speaking to him like this.  He takes a deep breath and tries to get his emotions under control.

Gene won’t look at him, but he can feel Nixon watching him.  “I’m sorry, Eugene,” Nixon says eventually, placing a hand on Gene’s shoulder and pressing lightly.  He stands up to leave, but Gene grabs for his sleeve.

“Stay,” Gene says, meeting Nixon’s eyes for the first time.  “Please.”

Without a word, Nixon sits down beside him and reaches for Gene’s hand, gently squeezing Gene’s fingers between his own.  Gene feels his anger slowly fade as Nixon rubs his thumb back and forth across Gene’s inner wrist in a gentle, comforting gesture.  “We have the same first name – Jackson and me,” Gene says after a few moments, “That was all I could think about when he…” Gene trails off, fighting against a lump in his throat.

Nixon shifts beside him, and reaching an arm around Gene's shoulder, he pulls Gene in towards him.  Gene rests his head on Nixon's shoulder while Nixon presses his face into Gene’s hair. Gene can feel Nixon's warm breath on his neck.  It makes him shiver.  When Nixon presses his lips to Gene’s hair, Gene shudders again and pulls away to look at the man beside him.  They stare at each other for a long moment until Nixon leans forward and kisses Gene.  It’s sweet and gentle, and Gene feels his breath catch in his throat as Nixon grabs at the front of his jacket to pull him closer.

 

* * *

 

Eugene sits by the river the next night, waiting for the patrol.  He’s not taking any chances; tonight, he’ll be at the side of the river when the men come back.  If he thought Spiers would allow it, he’d cross the river with the men.  _No unnecessary risks,_ Spiers had said.  Which strikes Gene as ironic since these patrols could only be described as unnecessary risks.  There is no sign of any of the men or officers.  Heffron had told him the patrol is scheduled for 0200, although the redhead had been uncharacteristically vague when Gene questioned him. 

When he hears footsteps, he stands up and watches as two figures come down the street towards him.  He immediately knows one of the men is Nixon, and then he recognises Speirs unmistakable gait. “What are you doing out here, Doc?”  Speirs asks as they get closer.

“Waiting for the patrol, sir.”

Spiers exchanges a look with Nixon, “There is no patrol tonight,” he says, “go get some rest.”

Gene nods his head, “Yes, sir,” but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from Nixon, who is staring back at him. Speirs looks between them both, then quietly says goodnight to Nixon and walks back the way he came, leaving Gene and Nixon staring at one another.

Without a word, Nixon leads Gene into one of the houses overlooking the river, to an upstairs room.  Gene has barely closed the door behind them before Nixon is kissing him and pulling at his clothes.  Gene doesn’t hesitate to just go with it this time, and he kisses Nixon back; exploring the man’s mouth, nipping at his ear, threading his fingers through Nixon's dark hair. He is beyond turned on when Nixon moans against his mouth.

Nixon drags him to the bed and pushes Gene down before climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. They kiss again, messy and aggressive, until Nixon begins to pull at the buttons on Gene’s pants. And Gene whines when he realises what Nixon is doing, and even though it’s terrifying, he is desperate for Nixon to touch him.

“Jesus, sir,” he breathes, when Nixon wraps a hand around him.

“Lew,” Nixon corrects him, his voice rough and breathless.

Gene fumbles with the buttons on Nixon’s pants, and Nixon pushes down with his hips into Gene’s hand.  They pull and tug and grind against each other until Nixon cries out “Fuck, Eugene” and comes over Gene’s fingers. Lying on top of him, Nixon buries his face into Gene’s neck and Gene can feel him breathing heavily, and he can feel his own heart racing in his chest.

Nixon still has a hand wrapped around him and Gene is desperate for the same release.  He pushes up with his hips, looking for contact, friction, anything.  Nixon smirks at him and kisses a trail from Gene’s jaw, down his neck, over his chest and stomach, and down his inner thigh.  It sends Gene wild; he pushes up with his hips and moans, tangling his fingers into Lew’s hair again. Nixon seems to enjoy Gene’s desperate whines and teases the man a little longer, kissing up Gene's thigh, across the smooth skin of his stomach and back down his other thigh, repeating the pattern and intentionally avoiding Gene's achingly hard dick.

When Lew finally takes Gene in his mouth, Gene finds he can’t make a sound.  He’s never felt pleasure like this before.  Lew’s mouth around him, his hands on Gene’s hips, his ass, gripping so hard Gene is sure he’s going to leave bruises.  And that thought just turns him on even more.

“Sir- Lew, I’m gonna come,” he manages to say. He tugs at Nixon’s hair, trying to haul the man up off him but Nixon doesn’t move.

“Lew -" he tries again. 

“Come for me, Eugene.”  Nixon says around him. And the vibration of Nixon’s words go through his body and Eugene’s world turns to white.

Nixon crawls back up the bed and kisses Gene, and Gene groans as he tastes himself in Nixon’s mouth.  He can’t decide if he likes it or if he’s repulsed by it.  Then he decides he’s a little turned on by how unbothered Nixon is by it.

Nixon buries his head back into Gene’s shoulder and Gene stares up at the ceiling, taking a moment to catch their breath.

“You ever done that with a man before, Doc?”

Gene huffs out a small, self-depreciating laugh and tries to beat down the blush he can feel rising to his cheeks. “I’ve never done that with anyone before,” he says softly.

Nixon props himself up to look at Gene. “Seriously?”

Gene gives a shrug and squirms awkwardly, trying to get out from underneath Nixon, and wishing he hadn’t said anything.

“Jesus, Doc.” Nixon says. His tone is incredulous, but there is no hint of mocking in his voice. 

Nixon leans down to kiss Gene again.  They kiss and kiss until Gene feels that heat build low in his stomach again.


	6. Chapter 6

Gene believed he had seen the worst things in the world, the worst things men could do to one another.  But that was before Landsberg.  Now, Gene knows it won’t only be bullet wounds and blood and the look of fear in a man’s eyes as he takes his last breath that will haunt his dreams, it will also be them.  These men with their emaciated bodies and gaunt faces, numbers crudely tattooed on their forearms.

The soldiers follow the officers through the gates and stare with tear-filled eyes in disbelief.  Nixon appears beside Gene, tugging at his sleeve.  He’s saying something, asking something maybe, but Gene can only look at him blankly.  There is no space in his head for anything else as he tries to comprehend the scene in front of him.  He can hear Shifty telling one of the men that he’s sorry in that soft, lilting voice of his.  And he can see Janovec, eyes wide as a man falls into his arms like a ragdoll, _'it’s okay, it’s better now.'_

Leigbott will haunt Gene’s dreams too.  The disbelief on the man’s face as he translates for Winters, _'they're Jews, sir',_ the pain in his eyes as he relays the message to the prisoners that they have to stop eating and go back into the camp, the way the man’s body crumples and how he sobs as he falls back into the troop truck.  Gene wants to go to him, to comfort him, but Webster gets there first and Gene is thankful because there are too many men needing comfort and there is only one of him.

The rest of men climb into the troop trucks, silent and numb, until there is just Nixon, Speirs, Winters, Sink and the regimental surgeon, Dr Kent left.

“Let’s go, Doc,” Speirs says.

Doc looks at Speirs and then looks away.

“Doc, let’s go,” Speirs says again, more impatiently.

“Major Winters?”

“What is it, Doc?”  Winters looks at him with those patient blue eyes

“I can’t, sir – I can’t...“  He looks over at the men imprisoned once again in the camp and tries to find the words to explain to Winters.  He can’t leave, he can’t walk away from all this suffering.  He knows he can’t do much; he’s an army medic, trained to deal with bullet wounds and burns and broken bones. He’s not trained to deal with such extreme malnourishment and god only knows what else.  He’s not trained to stave off death.  Much as he sometimes wishes he could.

Somehow, the sentiment makes it through and Winters gives him a tiny nod, “Okay, Doc,” he says softly.  He turns to Dr Kent and tells him Eugene will stay at the camp to assist in any way he can until the team of medics arrive.

The medics arrive the next afternoon, but Gene stays on.  There is too much to do, too many men needing his help.  He does what he can, taking temperatures, cleaning and dressing wounds, documenting food and water intake.  He’s vaguely away of Nixon being there from time to time, supervising the people from the town burying the dead.  And despite the best efforts of the medics, the number of bodies to be buried only continues to grow.

 

* * *

 

On the third evening, Speirs and Lipton arrive.

“You’ve done enough, Doc,” Lipton tells him as they lead him back to the jeep.  Gene falls into the back seat, exhaustion creeping into every part of his body.  They bring him to the house in town where Nixon is staying and something in the way Nixon looks at him makes Gene want to hold tight to the man and never let go.  But Lipton and Speirs are still there, talking quietly to Nixon.  Gene isn’t listening, concentrating on trying to stay upright where he leans against the wall, trying to stop those god-awful images of starving, dying, desperate men from swarming through his head.

Speirs is watching him, and there is something unreadable in the captain’s expression.  After a few minutes, Speirs and Lipton leave him alone with Nixon.  And the way they both look between him and Nixon and then look at each other makes Gene wonder if he and Nixon are the only ones.

Nixon leads him to the bathroom where Gene showers and gets changed into the clean uniform that has appeared from somewhere.  He puts on the trousers and white tee-shirt, leaving the shirt and jacket hanging on the door handle.  He crawls into bed and lies shivering in the darkness.  He can’t sleep.  Every time he closes his eyes he sees them, their faces, and their hopeless eyes.  Those men who look at him like he is their only hope. Those men who hold out their thin arms for a piece of bread or cheese or some water.  Those men who carry their friends to him and ask him to help.

He can hear Nixon moving around downstairs and he wishes the man was lying here beside him.  He knows he has fallen too hard, he has fallen in too deep and nothing good can come of this, but he wants Nixon.  He wants to feel the man beside him, wants to kiss him, touch him, and, god, he wants Nixon to touch him.  Sometime later, Nixon slides into bed beside him, curling around his back, wrapping an arm around his chest, pressing his forehead to the back of Gene’s neck.

“I can’t sleep, Lew.  I can’t close my eyes.”  His voice breaks as he swallows around the lump in his throat.

Nixon doesn’t speak, Gene knows there’s nothing to say.  Instead, Nixon tugs and pulls at Gene until they are facing each other and he wraps his arms around Gene’s trembling body. Gene digs his head into the hollow of Lew’s shoulder and presses in to the warm and reassuring weight of the man lying beside him.  He thinks about how glad he is that Lew is here and how much he loves Lewis Nixon.

"I think that jump is going to haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, Eugene,” Lew whispers into Gene’s hair.

Gene can’t think of anything to say to that, so he holds Lew a little tighter and tries not to say the words he really wants to say.  He lifts his head to press a tentative kiss to Nixon’s lips.

Nixon looks at him, a flash of something Gene can’t decipher on his face.

“What?” Gene asks.

“Nothing,” Nixon replies with a smile and catches Gene’s lips in another kiss.  But Gene isn’t letting him off and he pulls back to look at Nixon, his brow creased into a curious frown.

“You’ve never kissed me before,” Nixon says eventually.

“Yes I have,” Gene replies, thinking Lew has lost his mind if he doesn’t remember all the times they have kissed in the last few months.  In foxholes, in basements, in beds in abandoned and bombed out houses, in dark alley ways, in empty barns, hidden behind a troop truck.

“No, I mean, you’ve never made the first move before.” Nixon explains, “Sometimes I’ve wondered if you want this or if you’re just going along with it.”

Gene is stunned, both by the realisation that Nixon is right, it's always been Nixon to make the first move, and at Nixon’s confession that he worries Gene doesn’t want this.  For someone so good looking and charming and charismatic, Nixon’s self-esteem can be surprisingly low.  He reaches a hand up to stroke through Nixon’s hair and kisses him again, “I want this, Lew.  I want you.”

They strip right down, bare skin against bare skin, and Gene feels himself slowly come back to life, the horrors of the past few days beginning to fade as Lew kisses him, explores every inch of his body and touches him everywhere he can reach.

Afterwards, Gene falls asleep, tangled in the sheets, Lew’s arms around him.  He doesn’t feel Lew press a kiss into his hair, doesn’t hear him whisper, “I love you, Eugene.”


	7. Chapter 7

It should be easier in Austria to steal moments together, more space, more time, and more privacy since no-one needs to share rooms.  Instead, it is weeks of watching Nixon across rooms and across streets, managing the occasional conversation or stolen glance.  Unable to get too close, unable to say the things he really wants to say.

Gene finds it difficult to sleep in Austria, thoughts of the war and the men who have died keep him awake.  And when sleep does find him, he dreams of blood and bullet wounds and men screaming in pain. The dreams waken him and leave him trembling alone in the dark, wishing Lew was beside him like he had been in Bastogne. One night, after a particularly vivid dream, Gene grabs his blanket and pillow and makes his way down the hall to Heffron’s room.  He curls up on the floor and sleeps soundly for a few hours.

He wakes abruptly the next morning when Babe stands on him as he gets out of bed.  “Jesus, Gene, what are you doing down there?”  Babe exclaims as he rubs his eyes, his red hair standing up on end.

“Sorry,” Gene mumbles, “couldn’t sleep.”

Babe says nothing.  He understands.  They all do. For the next couple of weeks, Gene ends up making his way into Heffron’s room most nights until he begins starting the night there.  He isn’t the only one suffering from nightmares, Leibgott hasn’t slept alone since Landsberg, and when he and Webster move into one of the larger rooms with two beds, no-one says anything.  Luz and Perconte move into one of the other double rooms and it isn’t long before the men sharing rooms outnumber those sleeping alone, despite the abundance of single rooms.  After a few weeks, Heffron suggests they should do the same, since it doesn't make sense for Gene to be sleeping on the floor every night when there is no shortage of comfortable beds with soft, clean sheets.

 

* * *

 

 

Winters comes to them one afternoon and tells them the Japanese have surrendered.  The war is over, they are going home.  They spend the afternoon down by the lake, men and officers alike swimming and enjoying the sun, drinking what remains of the alcohol from Goering’s cellar and laughing as they discuss their plans for when they get home.

Late in the afternoon, Gene is sitting by the lake, watching Luz, Bull, Leigbott, Webster and Perconte playing in the water.  A few of the other men are lying sleeping on the grass and most of the others have made their way back to the town to get a few hours sleep before the celebrations continue into the night.  Nixon sits down beside him.

“Hi Lew,” Gene says with a smile.

“Hi, Doc,” Nixon replies, leaning lightly against Gene’s arm for a few seconds.  It’s the lightest of touches, but god, it just makes Gene want him.  The past few months have been almost unbearable, not being able to kiss Lew or touch him, barely being able to talk to him.  And now that Lew is mere inches from him, Gene doesn’t know if he has the self-control not to kiss the man, to hell with who might see and what the consequences might be.

“I can’t believe the war is over, we’re going home.”

“Yeah,” Gene replies.

They stare out towards the lake in silence for a few moments before Lew speaks again, “Part of me doesn’t want to go home, you know?  I wish this didn’t have to end.”

Gene turns to look at him, surprised at his words. Surely they have all been praying for the day the war would end since D Day, since before D-Day maybe.  But as he studies Lew’s expression, he realises the man isn’t talking about the war, not really.

“I know,” he replies, his voice thick and his eyes stinging.

Nixon pulls his flask out and takes a long swallow, then hands it to Gene.  “For old times,” Lew says, and Gene thinks back to the days they spent in Toccoa, sitting in the evening sun next to a dark haired man he barely knew.  He couldn’t have imagined what was in store for them, he couldn’t have imagined how important Lewis Nixon would become to him.

“Toccoa,” Gene murmurs and takes a mouthful, with tears swimming in his eyes and threatening to spill down his cheeks.

They sit quietly until the sun goes down and the rest of the men have headed back to the town.  When they are sure they are alone, they kiss. It’s a soft, sweet kiss.  Filled with sadness and regret for a dream they both want but that can’t come true. 

 

* * *

 

A troop ship bound for New York and before Gene knows it, he is standing on a train platform saying goodbye to Heffron and Spina.

“Make sure you call,” says Babe. 

“And visit,” Spina adds, “any time.” 

Gene nods, promising he would and Babe pulls him in for a bone crushing hug.

He watches as their train pulls out of the station and disappears from view.  When he turns around, he finds Nixon watching him from further down the platform.  He glances around, feeling self-conscious, as Lew starts walking towards him.

“What time is your train?” Nixon asks him when he gets closer.

“Uh- not til tomorrow morning.”

Nixon’s eyes light up like Christmas has come early and Gene huffs out a quiet laugh.  “C’mon then, Doc,”  Nixon says, grinning and tugging lightly on Eugene’s sleeve.  They weave their way through the crowds on the platform and back through the station.  Nixon leads him to a hotel, to a massive room over-looking central park.  It’s been too long and neither of them hesitate to go for what they want.  They are in each other’s arms, kissing and pulling and tugging at clothes.  They come together, moaning and whimpering into each other’s mouths before collapsing on the bed, arms and legs tangled, holding tight to each other as they try to catch their breath.

Nixon produces a bottle of whisky and they take turns drinking mouthfuls from the bottle, neither wanting to get up to retrieve the glasses from the other side of the room.

“What are your plans for when you get home?”  Gene asks him as they lie together.

“Working for my father’s company,” he says with a wry look. “I’ve roped Dick into coming with me so maybe it’ll be bearable.  For a few years, anyway.”  He passes the bottle of whisky back to Gene, “What about you?  Have you got anything lined up?” 

Gene squirms a little, “Actually, I’ve applied to a few nursing schools,” he says.  “Speirs and Lipton made me do it, practically wrote the applications for me.”  He still feels confused by Speirs' keen interest in his plans for after the war.

“That’s great Gene,” Lew says with a genuine smile, “Where have you applied to?”

“A few places, a couple in Louisiana, one in Mississippi” he takes a mouthful of whisky, “And I’ve also applied to a school in New Jersey,” he finishes softly, glancing at Lew. It's only now that he understands why Speirs had been so insistent on him applying to that particular school. Speirs knows. Lipton knows. Gene and Nixon weren't the only ones - aren't the only ones. 

Nixon's eyebrows rise and he smiles, “New Jersey, huh?”

Gene lets out a little laugh as Nixon takes the bottle of whisky from him and sets it on the small table beside the bed. He crawls on top of Gene and begins to kiss and touch every inch of him, eventually nuzzling against Gene's ear, “Roll over,” he whispers, somehow making the words a question and an order at the same time.

Gene shivers at his words and the feeling of Nixon"s warm breath against his ear.  He turns on to his stomach, allowing Nixon to pull him onto all fours and push his legs apart. Then Lew is inside him and Gene’s feels his breath catch.  He whines and pushes back against Lew, feeling the most intense pleasure he has ever known as Lew begins moving inside him.

“Jesus, Eugene.  I wish I could keep you like this forever.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me too long to finish this. Apologies, and as always, thank you for reading and the kudos.

_Five years later._

_He jerks wakes suddenly; the details of the dream that woke him already fading as the real world comes back until he finds he can’t remember the dream at all.  He can guess though, it’s always the same thing: Operation Varsity.  The plane being engulfed in flames as he jumps and two other men jump.  The rest of the men... well, that’s the point when he wakes up.  In his dream, the men who don’t make it out of the plane aren’t the soldiers he met that morning, instead its Dick, Speirs, Lipton, Welsh and Eugene Roe who die in the burning plane._

_As far as nightmares and sleeplessness go, Nixon knows he has got off lightly.  Dick has periods of weeks, months even, where he struggles to sleep at all.  In a rare moment of vulnerability, Speirs had once confessed that he struggles, Lipton does too.  And Kitty confided in him and Dick that she worries about Harry, who frequently wakes in the night shaking and yelling.  He often wonders how some of the NCOs fared after the war, Malarkey and Luz and Liebgott, to name just a few.  There is no doubt in Nixon's mind that they saw more horrifying sights and suffered more hardships during their time in Europe than any of the officers did.  While Nixon’s dreams waken him, and usually prevent him from falling asleep again that night, they are infrequent, and they are are becoming less frequent as time passes.  And he suffers nothing like Gene suffers.  Gene’s dreams leave him confused and disorientated, his heart racing and his body trembling until Nixon reaches out into the darkness and wraps the smaller man tightly in his arms, whispering in his ear that he’s okay, that he’s safe.  They both are._

_He glances across the bed to where Gene is lying beside him, curled on his side facing away from Nixon.  Nixon stretches an arm out, pushing through the heap of blankets until he finds Gene.  His hip, the soft skin of his stomach.  He’s warm, he claims the winter chill from Bastogne has never left him and he’s never got used to the cooler climate of New Jersey.  Even on balmy summer nights like tonight, he sleeps in pyjama pants and a tee-shirt at the very least, and insists on numerous blankets which only end up on the floor or in a mound piled between them.  Nixon tugs at Gene until the man rouses enough to turn towards him._

_“S’wrong? You ‘kay?” Gene mumbles sleepily._

_“Yeah, Doc, I’m okay.” Nixon whispers back, pulling Gene closer._

_“Mmm” Gene mutters, as he settles against Nixon’s chest and throws an arm over Nixon’s waist, his slim body fitting against Nixon perfectly.  Nixon pets through Gene’s hair, it’s still as dark and thick and unruly as ever, but it’s flecked with grey near his temples.  The man isn’t even thirty.  It’s another mark the war has left on them both.  Nixon presses a kiss to Eugene’s temple and breathes in deeply.    Eugene smells like soap and sun-baked earth and something sweet and Nixon will never get tired of that scent that grounds him, that makes him feel safe, loved, home.  Nixon won’t get back to sleep again tonight, but he’ll lie here with Eugene Roe in his arms, listening to his steady breathing until the morning light floods their bedroom._

_He recalls a conversation with Dick, some months after they came home from Europe, sitting in the Lew’s kitchen in the middle of the night, looking through the collection of photos Dick had got from the regimental photographer.  Dick had been awake most of the night, unable to sleep, and when Lew heard him moving around downstairs, he got up and made them both some tea.  They talked, quite openly, about the dreams that haunt them, the men who died, the guilt they both felt._

_“Unfortunately, we don’t get to choose our nightmares, Nix” Dick said, as he passed a photograph across the kitchen table to Nixon, “but we get to choose our dreams.”_

_Nixon studied the photograph, it dated back to Toccoa.  Perconte, Liebgott, Luz, Bull and Webster were standing together, smiling and squinting in the sunshine.  A game of baseball had either just ended or was about to begin, Nixon couldn’t tell which.  He was about to set the photograph down when he noticed two figures in the background, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the ground outside one of the supply buildings, legs stretched out in front of them.  He realised it was him and Gene, and felt an ache deep in his chest as he realised just how much he missed the medic._

_“You should call him,” Dick said, with a squeeze of Lew’s shoulder as he gets up from the table and heads back to bed._

_Nixon mulled over Dick’s words for a few days, marvelling at how well Dick knew him and how accepting he was, and Nixon loved him for it.  He didn’t get the chance to call Gene, Gene called him first to tell him he’d been accepted to a nursing school in New Jersey. When Nixon told Dick, he had smiled and said “I’m happy for you both, Lew.”_

_Dick immediately set about looking for a place of his own.  A week after Dick moved out, Gene moved in and he’d been in Lew’s house and in Lew’s bed ever since.  Their house.  Their bed.  Aside from Gene, the red-head from Pennsylvania has remained Nixon’s best friend and is one of the most important people in his life.  Every night, Nixon thanks a God he isn’t entirely sure he believes in for Dick Winters, and for the small dark haired Cajun man who lies beside him._

_In the morning, Gene will come into the kitchen while Nixon is making coffee.  He’ll quietly slide up behind him wrapping his arms around Nixon and ask him if he’s alright.  Nixon will shrug and say 'bad dream, y’know.'_

_Gene will press his forehead to the back on Nixon’s neck and hold him tighter, because he does know.  Nixon considers it one of the biggest blessings in his life that Gene does know, that he understands.  After a moment, Gene will plant a kiss near Nixon’s ear and whisper “I love you.”_

_Nixon will smile, “I love you too,” and he’ll hand Gene a mug of coffee and they’ll both go on with their day.  After five years, there is nothing more to say about the dreams that haunt them, the dreams that will probably always haunt them.  But as long as they have each other, Nixon thinks they’ll be alright._


End file.
